


48. a traveler's tale

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [206]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Fairy Tale Style, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9418088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: The girl is hungry, or maybe the wolf is hungry. These things are hard to keep straight. Maybe they’re both hungry. Maybe that’s the point of the thing: that there’s no difference between the two of them, and where the gun goes off is just luck.But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we.





	

**Author's Note:**

> "Natalie," cry the masses, "what does this have to do with Helena and Sarah," but tragically Natalie could not be reached for comment at this time.

There are wolves in these woods, girl.

But of course you knew that already. You knew what kind of story this was from the beginning – a story about wolves, the only kind there is. So: once upon a time there was a wolf.

Or maybe there were two wolves. These things are hard to keep straight. Who eats the moon? Who eats the sun? Who eats God? Maybe all these things are the same thing. Maybe we should just start over.

Once upon a time there was a wolf, and there was a girl. There. That’s a good start to a story. That makes things solid – you already know how the story will end, just from that beginning. The girl will get lost, the wolf will have a mouthful of teeth, one of them will make it out alive and it won’t be the sharp one. The sharp one gets left behind. Things with that many teeth – well.

But of course you knew that already.

Here are the woods. Here are the trees. Here is the snow, or maybe the carpet of fallen leaves, or maybe spring flowers, or maybe just dirt. Maybe it’s all just dirt and the girl is walking on it. You know her. Red cloak. Nice, solid boots. Hair all a mess. Maybe that’s eyeshadow smeared around her eyes or maybe they just look like that. Doesn’t matter. Her eyes are sharp, but not as sharp as the wolf’s.

And here is the wolf, right on cue. You know the wolf, of course. Wolf needs no introduction. Sharp teeth, sharp claws, fur. Or: boots, hair, eyes. You decide. Either way, the wolf is making promises it can’t keep. And the girl is hungry.

Or maybe the wolf is hungry. These things are hard to keep straight. Maybe they’re both hungry. Maybe that’s the point of the thing: that there’s no difference between the two of them, and where the gun goes off is just luck.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we.

So the girl steps off the path, just a little bit, and she’s lost. She didn’t mean to be but she is. We all do things we don’t mean to do; wolves are just an excuse. We carve out the hungriest parts of ourselves and we call them wolves and we blame everything on them, just to make ourselves feel better. You can look in the girl’s basket – it’s empty. Wolves don’t eat bread and pastries. Especially not if they’re meant for mothers, or grandmothers, or daughters, or sisters. Wolves don’t do that.

So maybe that makes the girl the villain of this story. Remember: her eyes are sharp.

The girl has frosting smeared around her lips and she’s following the wolf through the woods and somewhere in this story is a gun, because this story has the word _gun_ in it and that means eventually that word is going to go off. Where’s the gun? Who knows. There’s nothing in the woods but the wolf and the girl and the trees and the trees and the – oh, you know this story already. Poets tell it all the time. Poets are bad at saying anything new.

The wolf is an animal but it didn’t mean to be. That’s just how this story was written. The wolf doesn’t have a backstory – no wolfcub waiting at home, no mate long left behind, no pack. Of course no pack. What’s a wolf with a pack? Nothing you could tell a story about. _Lone wolf_ , has a better ring to it. Sounds like a gun. Sounds like the sort of person who would carry a gun and oh, thank goodness, there’s the gun. The wolf has the gun.

The girl has a basket. In case you forgot that she did: she does. It has a pot of jam in it, or something like jam. It’s bright red. Tastes like sugar and summer on the tongue. The girl and the wolf have sat down in a clearing, the path a long way behind them, and the girl gives the wolf some jam. Wolf eats it right out of her hand. The wolf would tell her it tastes like summer, but she knew that already and besides that the wolf can’t talk – it’s just a wolf. Even if the wolf could speak, it would cut its tongue open on all those teeth.

The girl gets it, though. She smiles. Her teeth are sharp, too.

But of course you knew that already.

Someone grabs the gun, because the gun has to go off eventually, and they’re walking through the woods. The girl wants to know where they’re going, but she doesn’t. The wolf wants to know where they’re going, and whether or not it does is a secret. Two sets of footprints in the dirt or the snow or the leaves or the dirt. Boots. Paws. What’s the difference, anyways.

Maybe it’s best if we just leave them here, the way the girl is leaving her basket behind in the roots of a tree. It can’t hold anything anymore – she ate it up, she ate it all up. She’s checking the bullets in the gun. Or maybe the wolf is.

There are enough bullets, in the gun. There are exactly as many as there need to be.

But of course you knew that already.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


End file.
